“Pathetic peasant,” Hamon snarled. “You think you can beat me?”
I didn’t waste my breath, just swung my fist around and slammed a rough needle of hardened ash into Hamon’s side. Compress Ash had given me the weapon I needed.
Hamon screamed and fell back as he clutched at the wound. As his blood flowed, his concentration faltered and the flames with it, his reserves of Vigor finally starting to fade.
I staggered to my feet and cursed at the pain from a hundred bruises and scrapes. Hamon crawled away through the rubble of the stands, toward where our weapons lay amid the ashes at the edge of the arena. He grabbed hold of one of his swords, but before he could lift it, I trapped his wrist beneath my foot.
“I don’t think so,” I said.
I jumped onto his chest and pinned him between my legs. For every punch he’d landed on me, I gave him three. My knuckles started to split after the 20th punch, and I slowed my breathing to hold back my fury. He wouldn’t be getting up for a long while, but I had to make sure.
I picked up the Sundered Heart Sword and focused on what had to be done.
“My battered hero,” Nydarth said, her voice gently mocking. “If only I was there to tend your wounds.”
“It’s not over yet,” I replied.
“‘Yet’ is such an important word.”
Just holding the sword and hearing Nydarth’s voice revived my flagging spirits. I went over to Hamon and lifted my weapon above my head. Before I could drive the blade into his stomach, I heard a chorus of cheering. When I turned my head, I saw that in the time it took me to beat Hamon, the guild had triumphed.
My fire golem stood amid a mound of beaten Wysaro warriors, guards, and Augmenters alike, a monument to how powerful that scroll had been. The rest of the Wysaro Clan were fleeing for their lives, and only a handful still faced off against the guild members as they backed away. Few stood their ground, but among them was Lord Wysaro, who still battled Master Xilarion in the center of the arena.
I glanced down at Hamon, but he was gone. I saw him crawling through the stands and considered pursuing him, but my honor wouldn’t allow it. A few months ago, I’d likely have chased him down and impaled him on my sword. But I’d changed. He was defeated. His entire clan was defeated. Now, I needed to help my friends drive the Wysaro from the guild.
I went to join Kegohr and Vesma, who were fighting a pair of Augmenters stubbornly clinging on near the exit to the arena. As I arrived, sword in one hand and Flame Shield in the other, the Augmenters looked at each other, turned, and ran.
“Let’s go smash the bastards!” Kegohr bellowed as he raised his mace high.
He ran after the fleeing clansmen as other initiates, disciples, and even masters sprinted after him. They cheered as they went, exultant at their victory, determined to trample their opponents into the dirt.
I looked from them to Xilarion, still dueling alone against Jiven Wysaro. It was a tough fight, both men scorched and bleeding, but they still fought with speed and skill. The outcome seemed balanced on a knife’s edge, ready to tip either way.
“Come on!” Vesma tugged at my arm. “We need to go with Kegohr. The clan is almost defeated.”
I couldn’t turn my eyes from Xilarion and Jiven Wysaro. “It’s too close. I’m going to help him.”
“But—”
“I know what I need to do, and there are enough of the rest of you to finish off the clan.”
Vesma looked at me, her mouth half open, as if she was about to speak. Then, she shrugged. “Your choice.”
And with that, she ran toward the arena gate and joined Kegohr in pursuit of the fleeing enemy. Shouts of triumph and cries of pain sounded amid the thunder of footfalls as the pursuit headed out of the arena, across the courtyard, and beyond.
I turned to the golem, ready to send it in to help Master Xilarion. But before I could say anything, the creature spoke.
“My task is complete.” The golem pointed at the fallen Wysaro foot soldiers who littered the ground. “I fought them until they were beaten or fled. Now, I return to the inferno.”
The creature then pressed its hands to its chest. The air around it flickered and seemed to fold in upon itself as the fire shrank inward until it was a narrow pillar, then a small ball, then a single flame that hovered in the air before vanishing in a puff of smoke.
So much for that approach.
Almost no one was left standing in the arena. Plenty of people remained, but they were fallen—dead, unconscious, or badly wounded. Moans and whimpers of pain filled the air, broken by the occasional bout of violent cursing. But the only ones still on our feet were me, Xilarion, and Lord Wysaro.
“It’s over, Jiven,” Xilarion affirmed. “Surrender.”
“Never!” Wysaro replied. “You and your pathetic guild have defied my authority for too long. With you gone, the Ember Cavern will be mine to control. Only those who help hold our borders will have its cores.”
“Only those who serve your clan, you mean.”
“If no one else will do their duty, then we will.”
Wysaro lunged at Xilarion with his sword. The master stepped out of the way, but Wysaro was quick to adjust and turned the attack in. He almost caught Xilarion with the blade, and the master was forced back.
“Master Xilarion!” I called as I approached, sword raised. “I’m here.”
A look of pure fury crossed Wysaro’s face as he saw me approach, the Sundered Heart Sword in my hand.
“You!” he hissed. “You ruined everything. What demon brought you here, Ethan Murphy?”
“Death. She’s a real bitch,” I said, getting close.
Master Xilarion stood beside me. With one hand, he held his wooden staff, ready to do battle. In the other, he held a ball of fire coruscating
